The Eighth Day
by Fresh C
Summary: It took six days to create the world and only one day to destroy it. But to rebuild, that is where the real challenge lies. Only time will tell what will happen on the eighth day. Sequel to Breathing Room
1. Bar None

**A/N: **This is the sequel to my post third impact story Breathing Room. I said there would probably be no sequel, but I was wrong. Inspiration hit. You don't have to read Breathing Room to understand this one, but it sure doesn't hurt. However, those of you who read Breathing Room don't expect the stories to have the exact same feel. This story is told in third person and it's not all about Asuka and Shinji, even if they play a major role. With all of that out of the way I hope you enjoy.

**Bar None**

It started off slow. Two children paved the way. It wasn't anything elaborate they established, yet they found a way to survive. They lived in a tent and existed off of a diet of canned food. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Later their efforts were aided by a woman of great ingenuity. Some call her the mother of modern society. Others call her an overbearing, work-obsessed maniac. But those who know her best refer to her as a terrible slob and a helpless alcoholic.

It was because of this woman that life exists as the people of New Okinawa know it. She was the first person after the impact to try to do anything on a large scale. When people first started to arrive from that accursed sea, she was the one who they would always turn to. She organized what history noted as the First Great Beach Occupation. This was the first organized movement towards recreating society. At the time no one in Okinawa knew that there were several other such organizations sprinkled throughout the globe, but none of them were quite as effective. It was a system in which large masses of people could survive together on a small beach without killing each other. Several committees where set up in order to run this large operation.

The first of these groups was the Identification and Registration Committee. Their job was to ask new returnees for their names, ages, former occupation, and any unique talents and skills they had. Many people joke about this committee's similarity to a job application. The next committee was the Health and Hygiene committee (nicknamed the "Clean-up Crew"). Their task was to help all of the new returnees freshen up from their leave of absence. After swimming in LCL for who-knows-how-long (Months? Years? Decades?) it was no surprise that people would come out more than a little bit smelly. It was also the responsibility of this committee to look after those who were injured before or after the impact. The Family and Friend Location Committee was in charge of reuniting those that had been separated during the impact (in short, everybody). This group worked closely with the Identification and Registration Committee for obvious reasons. Being a member of this group was the most coveted job in the whole organization because it had two advantages over all the others. The first advantage was that you would be the first to know when your friends or family members returned. The second was that it was just plain rewarding to see the joy of the reunited on a daily basis. It's impossible to be around such uncontrollable happiness and not be affected by it.

While there were many more committees, all of which served a vital purpose to man's survival, the most important of these was the City Rebuilding and Cultural Revival Committees (also referred to as the CRCs by many members of the Organization). These committees work closely together and have jurisdiction over all of the others. Their purpose is clear. It is the reconstruction of the city and the recreation of organized life as it once was. The afore mentioned woman was the head of both of these two committees and it was her work with them that had brought her public acclaim. She worked day and night to get the city to the state it was currently in. Blood was shed and tears were wept, but she never stopped her toils until the job was done. It was clear to all involved that she was a vital part of the process. Perhaps she was even the most vital part there was. That is why it was no surprise to anyone that one of the first buildings to become fully operational was the local bar. It is here that we find her on this night. It is here that Misato Katsuragi can be found _every_ night, drinking the stress of the day away.

She is not alone in this nightly activity of hers. Far from it actually. The bar is full and there are conversations flowing far throughout the room. It is a large establishment, but somehow its vast inward congestion makes it feel small. Yes, the place is full, but it is a long ways from being rowdy. These people may be drunks, they may be flirts, and a very small percent of them may even be decent citizens, but no matter who they are they are all most assuredly civilized. This is not the type of place where everybody knows your name, but it is what Hemingway would call "A Clean Well-lighted Place". It is for that very reason that we find Misato here, talking to a man. His name is Takashi Mizuho and he is one of the first men to come out of the sea. He is also the first man in the new world that Misato truly despises.

"Rough day?" asks Takashi as Misato takes a seat next to him at the bar. By looking at the woman anyone could tell she was beat.

"Aren't they all?" she replies without missing a tick. Misato is the type of woman who's at her best, even when she's at her worst. Some would argue that for this particular woman there's no difference between the two.

"I suppose so, when it comes to you. I myself like to take it easy. Enjoy life while I can. You never know when some great catastrophic event will come along and take it all from you."

"Hey Frank," she calls to the bartender who was busy washing out a glass. "What do you have to do around here to get a beer?"

Frank knows that she's just messing with him, but that doesn't stop him from hurrying along. In a matter of moments he has three cans of "the usual" laying on the bar counter with a glass of ice laying next to it. He knows she will not use the glass, but his mother always taught him that it was improper for a lady to drink from the can. He understands that the world doesn't work as his mother had said anymore, but he also feels that just maybe it should.

"There you go Miss Katsuragi," he said with a hint of admiration behind his voice. He knew quite well who he was talking to. He was graced with the presence of the greatest modern day celebrity in existence.

"Thanks Frank," she said warmly with a smile. She then proceeded to ignore the bartender as she diverted her attention to the delectable beverage set before her. Misato popped open the can and took a long chug that left the metal container half full. She lets out a satisfying "ahhh" and gets back to the business of talking to Takashi. After all he is the reason she's here every night. If it weren't for him she'd just stay home and drink… with the kids. If it weren't for the kids she wouldn't have to be here talking to him.

"You know, I still don't know how you do it Takashi. With all that's happened how can you live your life like that?"

"Live my life like what?"

"Like nothing really matters."

The man paused for a second and then cracked a decidedly lopsided smile.

"You're wrong of course."

"How?"

"You say I live my life _as if_ nothing matters. But the reason I live my life the way I do is _because_ nothing matters." Misato shook her head then took another long drink from her can.

"You honestly believed that, don't you?" Takashi just smiled. "What a sad old man you are."

"I'm only 42."

"That doesn't make you any less sad. You pathetic old cod."

"No need for name calling. It's not becoming of a person of your stature."

"Don't get me started on that. I'll be here for hours trying to talk myself out of suicide."

"Is it really that bad being well known?" The woman sighed.

"No I, guess it isn't. It just gets stressful from time to time. Anyways, I thought I told you not to get me started. I didn't know you were so desperate to change the subject."

"What were we talking about again?" he asked in mock ignorance.

"We were talking about why your lazy behind thinks that nothing is worth anything."

"I never said that nothing had worth. I just said that nothing mattered. There's a difference."

"How can nothing matter?" she asked frustrated. "We're helping people, fixing lives, rebuilding the world and you say none of that matters?"

"Of course it doesn't," said Takashi with a smirk. "Everything you're building will all be gone in a little while. You mark my words. If some meteor doesn't crash down on us and destroy everything then we'll get hit by a typhoon. And if we don't get hit by a typhoon then I'm sure it'll be Godzilla to do us in. And if it's not Godzilla then it'll be-"

"Alright I get the point already," said Misato quickly cutting him off. "But even if that were true, there's still the people to think about. Are you saying they're unimportant too?"

"The people, as you call them, are nothing more than refugees from a war they never even knew was happening. Unless I misunderstood what you had said over that public broadcast the other day. NERV or SEELE or whatever super powerful government organization used us all like we were pawns. No, less than pawns. We were like horses for the Calvary to ride on. So what does that say about the people? We're nothing."

To say Misato was angry with these words would be an understatement, but to say she didn't understand where the man was coming from would be a lie. Misato probably understood better than anyone in the whole city, Takashi included.

"How many have you had to drink tonight old man?"

"More than I care to tell."

"He's had about 6 martinis Miss Katsuragi," chimed in Frank. "The man should be wasted."

Let us not waste this rare opportunity to take a look into the enigma that is Frank, the bartender. Frank was also among the first people to arrive upon that desolate beach. While Frank was a relatively cooperative man, there was a little bit of trouble concerning his registration. Frank claimed to be an American. Born and raised. He says he lived in Kentucky on a farm with his father and mother. He seemed particularly proud of his accomplishments at his last job, which of course was a gig bartending at a fancy country club.

Frank was a liar. He had never held a bartending position in his life. Anyone with a watchful eye and half a brain could see that. In truth he is a mediocre barkeep who to this day needs to look at a recipe to make a Bloody Mary. He once applied to work the bar at Hooters, but sadly was rejected. But in the New World there are plenty of new opportunities and if nothing else Frank was an opportunist. Can you blame a simple man for a simple lie? Misato could. She never really liked Frank, not one bit. From the moment she met the man and started up a conversation she recognized him for what he was: a phony. Still she was always nice and polite. The man did have the beer and any smart diplomat knows that you do not bite the hand that feeds you. Still, it didn't please Misato in the least to find that he had been listening in on their privet conversation.

"Oh, I see now why Takashi here is speaking like a complete fool," she said with a pleasant smile. "I wonder what your excuse is, Frank?"

Not being the brightest man there ever was Frank replied, "I have no excuse ma'am. Thanks for noticing." He was quite happy to see that the great Misato Katsuragi had been worried about him. But after a moment or two he began to doubt her intentions. Was it possible that she had not truly been looking after his health? Frank didn't know. He decided it would be best to tend to some other costumers just in case. He didn't want to look like an idiot.

"You didn't have to humiliate the boy," said Takashi with a frown.

"He didn't have to be a nosey eavesdropper."

"You're a real harsh woman, did you know that?"

"You're still a lazy old geezer."

Takashi took this statement as a challenge. He put his hand over his heart, looked Misato straight in the eyes and said, "Tell me I'm wrong and I'll change my ways. Scouts honor."

Misato took another drink of here beer and emptied the can. She set that one aside and cracked open one of the others that Frank had left for her. She drained the can with one tip to the head. Frank's mother would have been appalled.

"I'd almost agree with you Takashi," she said beginning to feel the first effects of a buzz. "Actually, I'm sure I would. If it weren't for one thing."

"What's that?" asked Takashi interested.

"The children."

Takashi let out a charming little chuckle that filled the small space around them. He had expected an answer like that and knew he had no true defense against it.

"It's always the children, isn't it?"

"Seems that way," she said reflectively. "Have you ever had children?"

"You know I looked after that Miyamoto boy until his mother came back."

"I mean before all of this."

"No," said Takashi with a hint of sadness. "I never got around to it. I was too busy with work and making money to even consider having a serious relationship, much less children."

"Do you regret it?"

"Yeah, a bit. When I was younger I always thought I'd have a little one to show the ropes. Teach him how the world works and such. Heck, he'd maybe even be a piano prodigy or something. Make Mizuho a household name."

There was silence for a while. Misato let Takashi dwell upon his dreams, as she tried not to think of her problems. But Takashi was too perceptive for his own good. He noticed the faint look of sadness on the cheerful woman's face.

"Why are you asking anyways? Trouble at home?"

Misato looked around to make sure no one was listening. She took special care to give Frank a glare he'd never forget. She then spoke in a soft voice that was just above a whisper, but not easily overheard.

"I'm worried Takashi. The kids, they're too… close."

"What's a matter with kids liking each other?"

"It's not that their liking each other it's just…" She paused for a second as if in deep thought. "Remember how you found them sleeping the night you returned?"

"Yeah I remember. They were all wrapped up like a pretzel. The strangest sleeping arrangements I've ever seen."

"Keep your voice down!" Misato hissed. In all truthfulness the man had been talking at a volume no higher than normal.

"A bit worked up, aren't we?"

"Well, you'd be worked up too if your charges were doing that every night."

"Look Misato," said Takashi soothingly. "He's a boy. She's a girl. It's only natural that they'd want to… explore certain things, right? You may be supper woman in this new life of yours, but even you can't stop hormones. Sure their just kids, but if they're in love I say more power to them."

"If they were in love I wouldn't care. Heck, if I thought they were just knocking boots I wouldn't have minded as much. Sure I'd have a talk with them, but I wouldn't be so… worried."

"Why don't you have a talk with them? It's the only way you'll get this off your mind."

"I don't know. I'm just scared. I'm afraid something's going to happen if they keep going on like this."

"Nothing's happened so far," he said encouragingly. "Maybe nothing ever will."

"Maybe," she conceded. "But what if they grow up and move out and they still need each other. What if they don't grow into functioning adults?"

"Then they'd be just like everyone else wouldn't they?"

Misato glared daggers at Takashi who in turn just sat there and smiled.

"You know I never did like you."

"I know, you say that every night."

"Why do I even talk to a cynical old coot like you?"

"Maybe because you're attracted to me?" he said offhandedly.

"Definitely not."

"That's too bad. I haven't had sex since I got back to this supposed New World."

Misato stared at him in shock at his words.

"You are much too free with your information Takashi."

"Only the information that doesn't matter."

"But you're free with all of it."

"My point exactly."

Misato just looked at the man in annoyance. He sure did have an odd way of getting under her skin, just when she least expected it. But don't be fooled by her lie. She knew exactly why she talked to the middle age man. She talked to him because it helped.

As she got up to leave Takashi addressed her again. "Leaving so soon? You haven't finished your last beer."

"I'm taking it to go."

"See you tomorrow Misato."

She set some yen down on the table to pay for her drinks. It was almost a sick joke considering the uselessness of currency within this current society.

"See you then Takashi. Keep the change Frank."

And with that she was off. Off to her troubled home where two teens slept nestled together on a bed filled with need.

**A/N: **Well as far as feedback goes I'd be happy if you all could tell me your views on me writing this story in third person. This is the first time I've done that in quite a while and I'd just like to know how I did. Until next time.

Fresh C


	2. Back to Life

**AN: **There's two or so things worth mentioning here. First of all: look I HAVE been working on something. SEE, here it is all 9000 something words of it. I'm not a complete and utter slacker... depending on who you ask. Secondly: I've broken my own cardinal rule in even beginning to write this story. I have no idea how this is going to end (or if it's going to end, for that matter). That being said, enjoy the story, but don't get too attached. It could just stop at any given time. I guarantee no finish. But at least this chapter is nice and long. There's a small intermission in the middle where you can stand up and stretch your legs. Then (if I haven't bored you to death) come back and read the rest. Enjoy!

**Back to Life**

"It's raining."

Shinji never cared much for the rain. It was something he accepted as a necessity of life. Plants needed rain. People needed Plants. So by the transitive property people needed rain. It made sense.

"We should leave now," said Shinji quietly when the girl lying beside him refused to respond. He knew that Asuka was awake. He could tell by her breathing. No longer was her body rising and falling in a slow peaceful rhythm. The breaths were coming more frequently and in shorter waves.

She pulled the covers over her head.

"I don't want to go today."

"We shouldn't skip."

"Hey rom mirran air," grumbled Asuka from beneath the covers.

"What?"

"They won't even care. They stopped taking attendance after the second day."

Shinji stared out the window and watched the rain fall into the sea. He wondered if the people in there knew it was raining. Would anyone come back on a day like this? A day when his own roommate didn't want to go to school?

"It's not about whether they care or not. We should still go. People count on us to be there."

There was no way for Shinji to see her arched eyebrows hidden by the large red blanket.

"No one counts on us for squat."

"The other kids."

"What about'em?"

"They'll notice we're not there."

"They can bite my-"

"Forget it then," said Shinji in frustration. After all the time he'd spent with the girl he still couldn't win an argument against her. It was sad and he knew it.

"Well you should at least get up."

Asuka pulled the cover down to her shoulders and looked up at Shinji.

"Why should I?" she asked with an odd look on her face. Shinji didn't like it at all.

"It's almost six," he replied cautiously. He was relieved when the look left the girl's face.

"Who cares? I'm comfortable here."

_What are you playing at?_ Thought Shinji as his eyes met hers. He got up and went to his dresser. Just because she was going to be a delinquent didn't mean he had to.

"You shouldn't be in here this late," he said evenly. It wasn't often that Asuka misunderstood things. Especially things like this.

"Why not? What's the worst that could happen?"

"She could see, that's what."

"Who cares if she sees?"

Shinji sighed as he pulled out a pair of socks from the top drawer. Better to wear the long ones today. They were warmer.

"I care. You care. She cares."

"Misato doesn't care."

"Of course she does. You remember what happened back then… when she came back."

Asuka scowled. The intense look she gave him in that moment would have driven a lesser man to leave the room.

"I thought I told you," she hissed. "We never talk about that. _Never_."

"Fine," said Shinji taken aback. He hadn't expected such a passionate response. After a moment he regained his bearings.

"But you see my point don't you? You should leave," he said calmly. He knew she could be stubborn, but even Asuka listened to reason. Didn't she?

"Why are you in such a hurry to kick me out?"

Shinji sighed. Sighing was a mistake.

"It's not about you at all," he said. A statement which was also a mistake.

"Then what is this about Shinji?"

"It's not about anything. I just don't want Misato to see."

"So you're ashamed then?" said Asuka. Shinji easily translated it to "_you're ashamed of me."_

"No! I just don't want her to get upset about it."

"If you'd listen to me for five seconds you'd know she won't be upset."

Shinji stared into her accusing eyes and wavered. She was too much for him… too _intense_. He looked away defeated. It was something he was used to.

"I'm sorry Asuka," was all he said, but it was enough to take the anger out of the girl's eyes.

"I forgive you."

"Thanks." He said as he turned back to the dresser and pulled out a pair of pants and a shirt.

"It's just… why do you think Misato wouldn't care?"

Asuka smiled a bit. There was no joy in it, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"She already knows."

---------

Today was a math day. That meant they'd do math.

The teacher was a dark-haired, middle-aged man with stress lines under his eyes. A great change from yesterday's teacher who was a longhaired grad student with frameless glasses, but not so different than the teacher from a few days back (he was a tad older and his stress lines went a tad deeper).

The first instruction he gave to the class was the same one that almost all the other teachers had given: go to the shelves and grab a textbook. Most of the students were out of their desks before he finished the sentence.

Shinji tried to be quick about it. It was always a good idea to get to the good books before someone else did. He didn't want to be stuck with a duster again. He liked being able to actually _read_ the pages, thank you very much. It wasn't that the books were particularly old. They had been recovered from a publishing company right outside of the downtown area. The publishing date stated that they were made in 2015, almost right before the impact. However, based on their appearance they might have been a hundred years old, if not more.

Having acquired a decent looking book -_at least it's not falling apart_- Shinji sat down and scooted his desk next to his partner, a boy at least 3 years older then him. He thought his name might be Kina or something.

The teacher instructed them all to open up to page 259 and read. After that they were to look at the practice exercises and work on as many as they could before the end of class. If you have any questions ask someone sitting near to you. If they do not have the answer, ask the teacher.

Most students began to read as soon as the page number left his lips. It was the same as every math day.

Today they were learning trigonometry. Shinji found it to be a confusing and largely boring subject. While he vaguely recognized the usefulness of finding the height of a leaning ladder based on the distance from the wall and angle of contact, he found the whole sine and cosine thing, to be a tad disconcerting. It wasn't like basic arithmetic. At least when he added something or divided something he understood what happened to the numbers. But for the life of him he couldn't figure out how he got the number one from SIN 90. Or how he got the same results by plugging in one-half pi. And don't get him started on cosine.

"Could you turn the page?" asked Kina or whatever his name was. Shinji wasn't positive.

"Sorry… I'm not finished yet," said Shinji. He never was the fastest reader. Kina just sighed.

Shinji tried to read faster, but found that he couldn't. If he was going to understand this stuff he'd have to take it nice and easy. But eventually he gave up. Kina was looking very bored and was fidgeting around a lot. Shinji felt bad about it, so the two of them moved on to the exercises.

Shinji found these to be quite perplexing as well. Did you multiply the opposite side by the sine of theta or the cosine of theta? And if they could measure the distance between the ladder and the wall, why couldn't they just take down the ladder and measure it that way? And why was it important to know how tall the ladder was anyways? If it was good enough to use on the wall then why measure its height? He figured he'd never know.

"Sir," asked an 8th grader that Shinji somewhat recognized. "What's the tangent of pi?"

_Tangent? Where did it say anything about tangents?_

"That's a very good question," said the teacher. Apparently he was thinking somewhere along the same lines as Shinji. He closed the novel he had been reading and began to search through the teacher's manual. The whole class looked onward as the man flipped through one page after another. Minutes passed before someone spoke up. It was Kina.

"Sir."

"Yes?"

"Since the tangent is the same thing as the sine function divided by the cosine function, wouldn't the tangent of pi be zero since the sine of pi is zero and zero dived by any number equals zero?"

The teacher hesitated for a moment and put his hand on his chin. "I suppose that's right," he said with an air of hesitance that seemed almost theatrical. "What's your name kid?"

"Kinato." _Close enough_.

"Kinto?" asked the teacher.

"No, Kinato. Like the puzzles."

"Oh," said the teacher as if a great mystery had been solved. "Well thank you for your help Kinato." He paused for a second as if he was unsure of himself. "Does anyone else have a question?"

The teacher looked around the room slowly examining each and every person. He was just about to return to his reading when he saw a hand raised. It was Kinato.

"Do you have a question Kinato?" asked the teacher. He was glad to have memorized somebody's name.

"Yes, sir," said Kinato with a sense of formality that the teacher could never hope to match. "Why the hell am I here?"

The teacher searched very hard, but he couldn't find the answer anywhere in the teacher's manual. Kinato simply got up and left.

The following day, Shinji wouldn't have to share his book. He would read it all very slowly, carefully taking in each word. He would study each sentence, weeding through the technical mumbo-jumbo and searching for the hidden meaning underneath. He would try his best to absorb the knowledge, to make it a part of him, a resource to use for the future. And when he was done with that he would have no further knowledge of trigonometry than when he began.

----------

Shinji never ceased to be amazed by the ease at which his fist penetrated the wall. He took great satisfaction in the dull thud the contact created and found an odd fascination in watching the plaster fall to the now un-tiled floor. He quickly closed his eyes as the dust shot out from the point of impact and blew gently into his face. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his arm, not wanting to contaminate them with the dirt caked firmly onto his tanned work-gloves. Smiling into his facemask, he pulled out his fist and punched again.

Shinji liked gutting houses.

School had let out rather early that day. It seemed that after Kinato's disappearance the teacher didn't have much else to teach them. No one in the class had an objection to this. Most of them probably would have walked out in an hour or so anyways. Very few students ever lasted till the end of the school day. Mostly the younger ones. Shinji usually was among those who left at the final bell. He really had nothing else to do between the time he woke up and the time they let him do his job.

This change in schedule suited Shinji just fine. For the most part it had stopped raining; only a little drizzle could be seen. It seemed as if they'd be able to get some work done after all. After getting a note from his teacher (they wouldn't let him work during school hours) he headed out to the site to get started.

Today they were working at an old house just outside of the downtown area. It wasn't large by any stretch of the word, but it had enough rooms for at least 4 or 5 people to live comfortably. There were two big windows on each side of the front door and to Shinji it looked sort of like a face. The outer coating of paint was chipping. What wasn't chipped looked washed out and faded. Though the whole thing seemed rather run down Shinji was positive it used to be a nice house. He could just tell.

By the time he had arrived at the site most of the hard work had already been done. All of the belongings had been cleared out of the house and laid out in a pile on the side of the road (This included the much-dreaded refrigerator. Why the smells alone…). When surveying the large quantity of items piled up for the world to see, it almost seemed impossible that all of it had been taken from such a small building. Just surveying the pile was an experience in and of itself. The first thing that caught Shinji's eye was a black leather couch that looked far more expensive than it did comfortable. He'd sat on such couches in the past and had no love for the way the material seemed to grip at his clothing. There was also a large pile of dresses, blouses, jeans, shorts, t-shirts, business suits, shoes, and every other type of clothing imaginable. The majority of the pile was made up of female clothing. Shinji suspected that the estrogen in that house well outweighed the testosterone (doesn't it always?). The next thing he noticed was a pile of TV's. It seemed as if this family had owned 4 of them. Almost one per bedroom. Did these people ever talk to each other? Shinji supposed he had no room to question them, given his own living arrangement. He had to remind himself that he didn't know anything about who these people were or how they lived their lives. All he knew was that their house was a festering pile of corroding plaster and molded wood. What type of man would he be if he didn't scoop it out?

He quickly reported to the Forman of this particular project. He was an actual construction worker in his past life. Though gutting houses required no particular amount of skill, it was always nice to work under someone who knew what they were doing. It made things go faster. After handing the man his note, Shinji grabbed a mask, a pair of gloves, and a crowbar and set off to work. Most of the other workers were already punching out the plaster from the wall. Shinji took up a spot in a bedroom next to a kid who looked even younger than him and an older girl who was also on wheel barrel duty (all that plaster has to go somewhere, right?).

Within five minutes of working the job, it was pretty easy to tell that the boy was new at this. You could see it by the amazing adrenaline rush as he drove his crowbar into the wall revealing the sturdy wooden frame underneath. He went at it like crazy, never slowing down swing after swing. The crowbar itself, was largely ineffective for this type of work only taking out a small chunk of the wall with each hit. Shinji found that a simple much covered much more area and took much less work. But efficiency didn't seem to be on the top of the boy's list. Shinji thought briefly of correcting his style, but decided against it.

_Let him have his fun now. He'll catch on soon enough._

Shinji started off at a slow pace. The work was easy, but after a while it could get tiring. He hit the wall with precision, being able to guess what spots would take out the most drywall. He'd been doing this for much longer than the boy, that's for sure. He had gotten quite a bit done before he reached the corner of the room and stopped. It wasn't that he had run out of room (there was plenty of wall left for everyone), but something had caught his eye.

In the corner sat a little rag doll, covered in dirt and dust. It's curly yarn hair hung limply in front of its face as it smiled brightly for all to see. Shinji thought it was rather interesting that no one had moved it. Everything else in the house had been cleared out to be thrown away, yet this one doll remained. He bent down to pick it up, but for some reason stopped himself. He thought of the little girl who this doll had probably belonged to. An innocent girl who knew nothing of the world outside of her existence. A child whose whole short-lived life had been centered around these four walls. She probably played carelessly with this little doll, in this very room. Dressed it in tiny clothing, fed it from empty bottles, and nursed it to health when it got "sick".

Suddenly Shinji realized why the doll had not been moved. Nobody had the heart to do it.

Shinji stood up again and moved over to the next segment of the wall. There was still a house left to be gutted. It seemed as if there would always be a house to gut. The impact had left many of the most modern houses looking old and decrepit, a cesspool of dirt, mold, and humidity. Yet at the same time other houses (sometimes houses right next door) looked almost untouched. It really made one wonder how long had the whole of humanity been a puddle of orange goo? And more importantly, why hadn't time affected all places the same way? Shinji supposed it didn't matter.

What did matter was that he finished his work. Maybe one day when more people came back, someone would use the foundation laid down by this house to build a new one. Maybe it would be the very same family who had lived here before. It wasn't likely, but it was still a comforting thought. And maybe, just maybe the little girl would come back to this very room and find her doll smiling at her from the corner, waiting for her after all this time.

Shinji thought fondly of this as he once again drove his fist through the wall.

---------

At first there was consciousness.

It was just plain… weird. She felt it all over. This sudden understanding that she was awake and aware. She could feel her face. She could feel her arms. She could feel her legs. She could feel her toes. She could feel her chest as it rose and fell. And at the same time she realized that moments ago all of these parts, these pieces that made up the being that was herself, had not existed.

_Creation… no assembly. Separate parts become whole. Pieces spared from the collective fold merge to make a "me"._

And then something completely different crossed her mind.

_Oh my god I'm floating in them. How odd…_

The fluid which she had moments ago been a part of was extremely buoyant. It wasn't like floating in water, where one was required to maintain a relaxed position. It was as if the liquid was supporting her, holding her up and rocking her gently. She was being carried away. Carried like an infant.

_But to where?_

She did not know. To a degree, she didn't care. She noticed the sky… it was light and blue. She thought it looked really nice. The sun was out and shining brightly. It felt very nice and warm against her skin. The liquid supporting her came in soothing waves, ever so slightly ruffling her clothing and rinsing through her hair. This too felt nice. But it was also pretty boring.

Time made little sense in the orange sea. The sun moved. She tracked it's decent through the sky. She tried not to look too hard. She knew it would hurt her eyes. But when the sky got dark her viewing was unrestricted. Was it possible for so many tiny lights to appear in the same night sky? She didn't know that so many stars existed. Eventually she grew tired and at first she was afraid.

_When I close my eyes will I still exist? Or will I live that dream again? The one with no beginning that never seems to end?_

She fought it. She fought it as hard as she could. From what she could tell, she lasted only two days… maybe three. By the end of it she wasn't even sure why she was fighting anymore. There was only pain and weariness. The constant nagging of a stomach unfilled and the consistent strain of eyes unclosed, propped open by shear willpower alone. It was the hallucinations that made her finally give up her struggle for consciousness. How could there possibly something else in this sea? How could there possibly be existence (besides her own) on this current of unlimited dreams? The answer was simple: there could not. Therefore the objects floating off in the distance were dreams of her own creation. What was the point of fighting for reality when reality only brought you to illusion? Again the answer was simple: there was no point. It was the last thought she had before sleep took her once again.

---------

Consciousness again. This time it felt less awkward.

Her face was wet… of course it was. She was floating adrift. Wetness happened. And hey, it sure didn't help matters that she was laying face down with most of her head submerged.

_I can breathe them…how disgusting_.

Despite the disturbing nature of this realization, she kept her head beneath the surface for a while longer. In an odd way it was comforting. It was warm. It was flowing. It was soft. It reminded her of a feeling she'd felt before. A relaxation that had one name and one name only. Her lips moved to form the word in silence.

_Mother…_

She turned herself around. She couldn't stay under a second longer. It wasn't that she was getting freaked out (the idea of breathing people had begun to seem almost normal). She just couldn't stand the smell… the smell of blood. Besides, lying on her back was much more interesting. This way she could see the clouds and the sun. When she laid face down all she could see was… orange.

It took her a while to realize that she was no longer hungry. With that realization came a small wave of nausea. It turned out that they were edible as well. She was beginning to dislike this existence more and more. Knowing that her very existence depended upon the continual non-existence of others greatly disturbed her. It wasn't long after this realization that she began to spend her days swimming with the current. Wherever the sea was taking her, she couldn't get there fast enough.

Though her hunger and fatigue faded away, the hallucinations never did. They became clearer and more frequent as the days grew on. She saw them coming from the left of her, some coming from the right of her, some in front of her, and even some behind her. They were closing in, and she did not like it one bit.

She swam faster. But she had the distinct feeling that they were moving faster too.

----------

Sometime during her journey, she realized that hallucinations were very much real. As she got closer and closer to land she began to realize that they where in fact people, just like herself. If she looked really carefully she thought she could even make out details of their persons. Some of them were swimming with the current like her. Others just floated along aimlessly. And she wasn't quite sure, but she thought she saw at least one person swimming in the opposite direction.

Eventually she could even make out faces. The closest people to her was a man about 30 feet to her left and a woman 20 feet to her left. Once again, she couldn't be sure, but she thought the woman was in her late 30's or maybe a bit younger. Though she really didn't look that old, the dress she was wearing was a dead give away. It was just a little too classy and conservative for a younger woman to be wearing. The man… he was naked. He must have disappeared while he was in the shower or something. She couldn't tell his age because she tried not to look at him too much.

It struck her as odd that the three of them never spoke to each other (or swim over to each other for that matter). They just silently went upon their merry little way. Most of the time. Sometimes she could hear the man crying at night. She had no idea why the man cried, but it was a fairly regular occurrence. On these very same nights the woman would sing. The songs that the woman sung varied from night to night. She what the songs were or if they were even real songs. But she did know the reason the woman sung.

_She's trying to drown him out. How sad..._

What was truly sad was that she couldn't force herself to do the same. She tried not to hate the man as she focused her attention on the woman's not-so-bad, yet not-so-good singing.

----------

**Intermission**

Congratulations reader, you've now reached the seventh inning stretch. Stand up and lets all do the chicken dance! What, you don't want to? Fine! At least have a snack or drink from our wide selection at the concession stands. There are trashcans located at each exit. Please don't leave your trash in the aisle. But wait… is this a ball game or a movie theater? Who cares? On with the show!

----------

She got there.

It was somewhere between two weeks and month before she saw land. At least that was the best approximation she had. Swimming had been a good idea. It gave her something to do besides worry about her living conditions and her companions. And though it was impossible to see the immediate results, it made her feel as if she were accomplishing something.

And accomplish something she did. Sand never felt so good. She crawled on her hands and knees. It felt good to be on something solid again. She grabbed a handful of the grainy substance and let it drain out between her fingers. She looked at her hand. Some of the sand had stuck to it because she was still very much wet. She didn't care. She was on land.

First she looked to the right and saw that the woman was just reaching the beach. She saw the eagerness on her face as she swam faster than she had ever previously swam during the journey. The man had already reached land. He was rolling around and weeping for joy.

_Does he ever stop crying?_

And then a thought entered her head. She was on land wasn't she? She should try and stand up. The first few attempts were failures. It wasn't that she was weak. The swimming had kept her in good physical health. The problem was merely balance. But after a while she got a hang of it. It was like riding a bike… or maybe a tad simpler than that.

Now walking… that was like riding a bike. After the first step she found herself flat on her face. Luckily she had thrown out her arms quickly enough to catch the majority of her weight. She got up and tried tried tried it again. In a mater of moments she was walking small circles in the sand.

_Nothing to it but to do it_

She looked around again. She could see about 100 people on either side of her who had now reached the beach. A few of them were sitting on the sand staring back out over the sea, but most of them had stood up and began to walk. It looked as if some of those who were walking had already found a destination.

She followed the trajectory of their path with her eyes which lead her to a large table with a huge sign overtop. It read, "Welcome Back!" in large excited looking characters. Underneath this sign was another smaller sign that read, "Start Here" with an arrow pointing downward. She saw that a line was forming in front of the table. With a shrug she headed off to join it.

The line moved sporadically. Sometimes it would inch forward. At other times it wouldn't move for several minutes. Sometimes it jumped about 5 people at a time. At the front of the line she could see a woman sitting at a chair next. On either side of her stood two rather large men. All three of them were wearing white t-shirts that read, "New Okinawa Greeting Committee". All three of them were wearing smiles that said, "Everything is okay, please stay calm". Two of them were wearing taser guns that said, "This is what happens when you don't stay calm".

When she was about 5 people behind the front of the line she began to hear their custom made phrases. The woman did all the talking.

"Hello sir/madam. Welcome to New Okinawa. You have arrived at our Moon Beach Reception Center. We understand that your return may have been an unpleasant and potentially traumatic experience, but we ask that you please stay calm. We recognize that you are probably confused about your future here in New Okinawa and how your current situation came to be, but please be patient with us. All will be explained in due time."

But not everyone was patient with them. Many of the people could not contain their questions.

"How did I get here?"

"Where is my _insert family member here_?"

and her personal favorite

"Who the hell are you?"

She didn't really understand why these people were so mistrusting. She'd always had a certain appreciation for figures of authority and felt an obligation to cooperate.

_They're only trying to help. Why give them a hard time?_

There was one man in particular who didn't agree with this philosophy. At first he started asking what happened to his daughter. The woman only responded with the same type "All will be answered in time" response. At this the man grew inconsolable. He began to yell at the top of his lungs, insinuating that they were hiding his daughter. Saying that everything that had happened was their fault. And claiming that they were nothing short of pure evil.

In a way, she admired the way the situation was handled. One of the men crept up to the man and grabbed him into a clearly unwanted embrace. But to everyone's surprise the man did not fight him off. His body went limp in the larger man's arms. The larger man then began to carry the man into a tent not to far from the line. It was then that she noticed him putting the taser gun back into it's holster.

The line moved forward.

----------

From there, it was sort of a blur for her. She was ushered from one station to the next. Each one had two things in common: they all told her to be calm and they were all manned by men with taser guns.

At the next station they offered them all showers and a change of clothes. No one passed on this offer. There was quite a line (only ten showers were available) but there was no set time limit. When the Luke-warm water came down from the low-pressure nozzle she thought she was in heaven. She took the bar of soap they gave her and went to town. Suds were everywhere and that was exactly how she liked it. She then understood why the line was so long. She had forgotten what it felt like to be clean. It was quite a while before she got out.

The people working this station gave her a bag to put her old clothes in. They also outfitted her with a pair of socks, male boxer shorts, sweat pants, and a rather large t-shirt (they'd temporarily run out of her size). It was easy to figure out why they chose this particular ensemble to mass distribute. There was an overabundance of any one of these article of clothing in almost every store imaginable. And there's also the "one size fits all" factor to consider. For the most part she didn't mind the new clothing. It was comfortable and practical. She only wished that they had supplied the women with new bras. Her old one was still soaked with that liquid. The best she could do was rinse it off in the shower and hope that the smell would go away in time. It didn't.

After showering she was ushered along to the temporary living quarters. This station consisted of a series of large tents, each outfitted with a sign labeled "Men," or "Women" over the entrance. Inside of each tent the workers had laid down giant tarps in order to cover the sand. On top of these tarps were many cots. They were informed that this was where they would be living until their registration was completed. At this point many people asked the question, "Registration for what?" But the only answer they received was, "All your questions will be answered in due time." Somehow no one was surprised to hear that.

The first thing they were instructed to do was to find a cot and set up shop. There were dry erase boards tethered to each cot. The new arrivals were to find a cot with a blank dry erase board and write their names on it. After that they were told that they were free to rest up from their travels. Or if they liked they could continue on with the registration process. They were handed three meal tickets for the day and were given the location of the cafeteria tent.

While she was quite egger to get on with the process, she was more than a little bit hungry as well. The meal they provided was… less than amazing. It consisted of a small bland bento with a bottle of water and potato chips. She tore it apart as if it was the first meal she'd had in years. For all she knew, it might have been. It felt good to have something _solid_ in her system for a change. Her meal only lasted her several minutes, so without much delay she was able to get back to the registration processing.

The registration tables were divided into several different sections. At each section the new arrivals were pumped for information. The person working that section would record all of the information onto a colored form of some kind. After the new arrival had finished a section they were given the colored form and directed to a new station where another colored form would be added to their pile. The line for this one was even longer than the line for showers. She realized that this just might take a while.

A lifetime later, when she reached the front of the line they started asking her for basic information.

"What's your name?"

It was then that she realized she had a name. It was a very pretty name, she thought. It used to belong to her great grandmother. She told it to the man working the section.

"How old were you before your disappearance?"

Was there a difference between how old she was then, and how old she was now? She didn't know. She told the man 14.

"Height?"

_5 feet, six inches_

"Weight?"

_111 pounds… last time I checked…_

"Hair color?"

_Dark Brown? Can't you tell that by looking at me?_

"Eye color?"

_Brown as well… are you blind sir?_

"Family members?"

_A father and two siblings_

"Medical problems?"

_None that I can think of_

"Allergies?"

_No_

"Favorite Color?"

_That's not even almost relevant… oh well…green_

And so on and so forth. Eventually they finished the grilling session off by giving her a laminated nametag with a barcode on it instructing her not to loose it or she'd have to repeat the whole process over again. Needless to say, she didn't loose it. By the end of the whole process she had given so much personal information that she was growing sick of herself. On the positive side, she knew that she was at least entering a system that was well organized. But she wasn't sure if she truly wanted them to have that much information about her.

_A necessary evil, I guess._

From there she was directed to the information tent. This was a large tent about the same size as the ones in the living quarters. In the back of the tent was a huge projection screen. There was a man counting heads at the entrance. As she entered she almost tripped over the wires for a digital projector that was hooked up to a laptop on a rolling cart. When everyone was seated the movie started.

The movie was much shorter than she expected. About fifteen minutes long, it mainly consisted a woman with violet hair explaining what happened to humanity with as little words as possible. It took her a moment to realize that she knew that woman. When she did realize this she felt sort of bad that she hadn't realized it sooner. But all of this took a back seat to the information that the movie provided.

Apparently there was some sort of plot… to make mankind into a god. That was where she got lost. The sad part was that it was opening line. Then there was a jumble of technical terms… something about AT fields and ego-boarders. The purple-haired woman tried to explain that this field/boarder thing was the only thing stopping us from merging into goo. It wasn't a comforting thought. The women then explained how group of men used this knowledge to break down the barriers and merge us all into one being… the sea of orange. This thought was decidedly less comforting.

_We did this… we did this to ourselves?_

But the woman wasn't done. She then went on to describe how they had all come back.

"More and more people are arriving back each and everyday. While most of these people are of Japanese decent, there are some who have come from all over the globe. It is unknown why these people have arrived here in New Okinawa, but they are welcome here all the same. If you are one of our foreign arrivals it is likely that you have an understanding of Japanese writing and the Japanese language. Please do not be alarmed by this. It is perfectly normal." "

The woman smiled very nicely for the camera. It honestly couldn't have been more comforting, unless she had delivered it in person.

"As you have now all finished the registration process I'm sure that you have many questions about the society you shall be joining shortly. Please understand that we are aware of your confusion and are not trying to hide anything from you. All will be explained after your registration has been fully processed. We also understand that you may have questions about your family and loved ones. In a moment you will be lead to an area where this issue shall be addressed. Because we cannot guarantee that we will be able to locate everyone who you have lost as a result of this incident, we ask that you only list a maximum of 3 individuals with whom you would like to contact and/or be contacted by should they return. We thank you in advance for your patience."

They moved her along again. They called them out of the tent one by one. They then scanned the nametags to make sure that the person who came was the person who was called. They took her to another tent where they took a photograph of her. In minutes they handed her a printed ID with her smiling face upon it.

"You are now officially a citizen of New Okinawa. As a citizen you are required to keep this card with you at all times. It is crucial to your identification as a registered member of our society. This card also functions as a form of currency in many establishments throughout the city. If you apply for a job in the future all wages will be transferred to this card. It is possible, but not necessary to use this card to withdraw currency from most ATMs in the city. We have taken the liberty to start each new citizen off with 100 credits. We believe that these funds should be sufficient for citizens to live off of until an occupation can be acquired. We advise that you spend your credits wisely as no new credits will be issued for another month. If you find that you have insufficient means, it is possible to petition for additional credits. Each petition will be handled on an individual basis and there is no guarantee that your request will be granted. We thank you for your cooperation and welcome you once again."

She stared blankly at the person explaining this. It was a lot of info to take in, but only one thought really stuck.

_Oh… there's money…hadn't thought about that_

Luckily for her someone else already had. She was beginning to feel her confidence in this system rise a bit.

----------

A few days passed. No word had come from any of her family. It seemed as if she was the first of them to make it back to the "real world".

_Just like them too. Let me do all the hard work and then come back once everything's already been taken care of. Some things never change._

Based on the information given during registration, she was determined capable to live on her own. But since she was a minor she was given the option to be housed by a state-designated guardian. She told them that she didn't care much either way. They signed her up for a guardian, just in case.

They allowed her to live in the temporary quarters while she waited for them to assign her guardian to her. It was a somewhat complicated process that consisted of matching her up with someone of the same gender who shared as many of the same interests as possible. Apparently a lot of paperwork was involved as well.

Meanwhile she spent her time wandering around the camp. She found that most of the people there were generally nice, if not a little closed off. She heard lots and lots of stories. Most of them were about life before the impact. Almost all of them focused on a family member or a friend from that time that seemed to be so long ago. The majority of them were happy stories. The type of stories that you have to temper with phrases like "And you wouldn't believe what he did next" or "You'd understand if you knew her". They were the kind of stories that made you laugh or at least made you smile.

Some of the stories weren't so happy. These usually weren't about pre-impact at all. They were stories of horror. Stories of people consumed by dreams of hatred and sorrow. Or even worse. Stories of pure perfection, the likes of which reality could never compare. These stories were told in hushed voices with haunted stares. Some of them kept her up at night.

But the time finally came for her to leave the temporary living quarters and head to her new temporary living quarters. She'd be living with a woman by the name of Senna Morikai. Apparently they both played piano and liked tennis.

_At least we know we have things in common. That's something right?_

There was a bus that ran hourly between the city and the beach. She was free to take it at any time after her the completion of her registration, but had declined. She needed a little more time. Just a little while more before she had to return to the world of regulations and responsibilities. In the temporary living quarters there were basically no rules. As long as you don't kill anyone and stay out of other people's way you could pretty much do anything you wanted to. But reality had kicked in. She had a place to stay. And once you have a place to live, there's no place for you in the temporary quarters. That was just the way it was.

The bus ride was surprisingly short. It was only about 15 minutes away. But there was a world's difference between the city and the beach. The city of New Okinawa was nothing like she remembered. The thing that had first surprised her about Okinawa when she moved here before the impact was that there were people everywhere. There was scarcely an hour of the day where you could walk the streets without running into at least 20 people per city block. But now it was a mere shadow of itself. Sure there were people. In fact, there were lots of them. These people all seemed lost, as if they had all left their homes on errands, but suddenly forgot where they were supposed to go. It was sad.

_Just like Tokyo-3_

They had handed her a map and marked it with the location of the lady's apartment. Actually it wasn't an apartment at all. It was a cheap hotel room downtown. (_Tojin's Castle, Room 243 – sounds cozy_). As she drew nearer to the downtown area a thought came to mind. She had nothing to wear. And this time it wasn't just a dramatic exaggeration. She literally had nothing to wear from day to day, besides the clothes she was wearing and the ones she had arrived in. She stopped in mid-stride to consider this new problem. She decided that that just wouldn't do.

An hour later she had shopped her way through the town. She came out with three bags of clothing, which would hopefully be enough to last her a full week before she had to wash them. She felt a little better knowing that even though most stores had not reopened there were still places available that carried her size, even if it did put her 20 credits in the hole.

_I'm definitely going to need a job soon._

Knowing that she'd at least have something to wear, she decided that she'd head out to her new home. But then a crazy thought entered her mind. One that should have come up much sooner given all the stories she'd heard about people who missed their homes. She already had a home. One right there in Okinawa. Sure her family was gone, but that didn't mean the house they had together had to be. But she knew that Miss Morikai was waiting for her. She decided that it was important for her to go there and at least meet the woman who had generously offered to take her in. But not before taking a brief detour.

A detour home. 

----------

_This isn't right._

She was correct in thinking so. After all, that was her TV on the side of the road. And so was the other one lying next to it. And that refrigerator a few feet away, that was hers to. Those ties… those ties were her fathers. And that pile of dresses belonged to her sister… they always were a bit too revealing. And those toys… those were had once been hers, but now belonged to her little sister. And look at those magazines… the ones she had been collecting. The popular one that all the girls had with the quizzes that all the girls took and the stars that all the girls worshiped. Why were those magazines next to her jewelry? The jewelry she had always loved, but never had enough opportunities to wear. The ones that had once belonged to her mother.

_Those do not belong in the street… those surely do not._

She started walking again. And that's when she noticed the people. They had been there all along, but for some reason they had escaped her attention. She wanted to stop them and ask them what was going on, but stopped when she saw the masks. She was sure that those people definitely shouldn't have been wearing masks.

She walked past the people in the creepy paper masks and went through the front door. She got the feeling that one man had tried to stop her, but she never looked back to see why he had grabbed at her arm. It didn't really matter. One step into the house and she realized that something very important was missing.

_What happened to the living room? It was here when I left._

But she ignored that, there was more important things to worry about. Like why she could see straight through the area where her kitchen used to be. The wall was gone. Replaced with wooden support beams, a mere skeleton. But through the kitchen she could see her room. Naturally she headed in that direction. It was _her_ room. The only place that really belonged to her.

_But it's all just wood. Wood and concrete. Where's the blue wall paper with the clouds scattered about? Where's the dresser where I keep my clothes? Why is there plaster all over the floor? Where's the mirror that hung on the wall? Why isn't this room mine anymore?_

But this suddenly felt unimportant as well when she noticed the little doll in the corner of the floor. It was covered in fragments of plaster and dust and it smiled up at her cheerfully. That was the doll with which she had held as her mother rocked her to sleep. It was the same one she'd tearfully given to her little sister when she was born. And that was quite possibly the worst part of it all. That they had covered up this doll.

"If you aren't registered with the Forman you can't work here."

They were talking to her. She had a feeling that they'd been talking to her for quite some time actually. But she didn't bother with a response to this statement.

"Why didn't they move my doll?" she asked. The girl who was talking to her looked very lost and confused. Maybe she hadn't heard her. She spoke louder.

"Why didn't you move the doll?" she repeated.

This time the girl frowned. "I don't know… we were told to just move th-"

"You moved everything else," she said angrily. "Why not the doll?"

"I'm sorry," said the girl from behind her mask. "Maybe I should go get the Forman… he could te-"

"Was there something wrong with it?" she asked. "It's a good doll. My mother gave me this doll, so I know it's a good doll."

"It's a… it's very nice."

"Then why didn't you take it?"

"I don't… I don't kno-"

She wasn't very interested in excuses.

"Isn't it beautiful? The way its hair is long and the way it smiles." She gave the doll a smile of her own before focusing her attention back to the girl. "Why wouldn't you want it?"

"Could you please lower your voice?" asked the girl sounding almost afraid. It was this fear that made her realize how ridiculous she was being.

"I'm sorry…" she said embarrassed. "I'm not usually like this."

"It's okay… why don't you step outside with me?"

Suddenly she felt lost.

"Sure… I think I will. I just… I don't know… You like the doll don't you?"

"It's a very nice doll… let's just head outside."

"Okay," she said but she didn't move an inch. "You like its hair don't you? I used to always do its hair."

"The hair is nice," said the girl soothingly, putting her and on the confused girl's shoulder. "Now let's g-"

"Please don't touch me." She hadn't yelled, but the girl's hand was quickly removed.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," She said. She wasn't one to hold grudges.

"Now we should really just get going."

"Okay." She didn't move.

"Let's go."

"Do you want it?"

This time it was the worker girl who was confused.

"You can have it if you want it." She held the doll out for the girl to take.

"I… I couldn't… it's…"

"Take it. It's a good doll."

"I… I'm going to-"

"Take it!" she suddenly yelled. Even she didn't know why.

"Please don't yell at me." She could see tears brimming in the girl's eyes.

"Why won't you just take it?" she whispered However, her voice dropped considerably as she continued. It was barely above a whisper. "My daddy says my mother made it. She took a class when she was young. She used to spend hours and hours working on it. When she was finished she gave it to me, since my older sister was too old. And I took it everywhere. It was such a nice doll that mommy made. But then my little sister was born and mommy… well mommy died. It wasn't my sister's fault. Daddy said it wasn't anyone's fault. So I gave the doll to my sister because she never knew mommy. But now my sister's gone. And me… I'm just too old for it. So could you please take it away? So mommy's doll doesn't disappear? Mommy worked so hard… she worked so…"

And then she couldn't fight it anymore. She fell to her knees, held the doll to her chest, and wept. And she whimpered softly "take it, please" but no one dared come and grab the doll from her hands. They had all returned to their work, giving her the relative privacy of her own personal grief. They didn't gawk at her or ask her why she was upset. They didn't do this because they all understood. Because they'd been through the same thing.

They came back to life, but not to home.

A pair of arms went around her. She leaned into the embrace and cried even harder.

"Shhh," said a voice. It was the voice of male. "It's going to be okay."

He began to rock the two of them back and forth. The motion was awkward as he was on the ground with her, on his knees. It felt nice to be rocked. In a way, it felt good to cry. She thought she finally understood the naked man from back in the sea.

After a while she settled down. She couldn't cry forever. There was life to be lived… this much she knew. She pulled back from the person holding her, making sure to keep the doll firmly within her grasp. As she looked into his face, recognition dawned on her.

_But he looks… taller. And… and older…_

Shinji smiled softly.

"Welcome back, Hikari."

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**AN:** Inspiration for this chapter came largely from my spring break trip to New Orleans to help with the relief efforts for Hurricane Katrina. Obviously the whole thing with Shinji gutting houses came directly from that experience. But the whole idea involving around the feelings of coming back to a wrecked home also comes from my dealings with the people of New Orleans. That's all I've got to say I guess. Give me your honest opinion on this one and we'll see where this goes from there. Just so you know, I'm not saying that my continuation of this story depends on how many reviews I get. I could get a million reviews and still have no motivation to continue. But all reviews are greatly appreciated and all that jazz. You know the drill. Piece out and whatnot.


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